bambi eyes || tradley

20. we could be heroes

The blue-eyed man sucked in a breath at the computer monitor across from him. He'd been struggling to find ways to fill up his time without the curly-haired boy alongside him, but that morning, he'd realised there were still political magazines he needed to inform of the lab and beg to publish. He was nervous about this whole thing. Whenever he thought of himself he didn't see a hero. Heroes were brave. And even though Tristan felt sort of brave slipping photographs into envelopes and typing long e-mails about something he was so scared wouldn't work out the way he hoped, he knew he wasn't a hero. Although, he did feel very selfless.

Tristan had always liked helping people out. It made him feel happy seeing other people happy, and imagining people finally being able to find themselves on their own made him very happy. But he was so afraid that he'd only make it worse for the humans. As soon as the lab is known to the media, the government could make life even more miserable from them. Tristan didn't want that. And even though they wouldn't know it was him that made their life miserable, Tristan would always know, and it'd only make him feel worse.

Sixteen-year-old Tristan had a plan though. He'd wanted Tristan to sneak into the headquarters and free all the experiments. Him - out of all people. He could see why past Tristan believed he were so worthy and perfect for the job, because he probably expected now Tristan to turn out the exact same way as himself. But the twenty-one-year-old was evidently nothing like that, and he'd wished that he could tell teenage him that he was absolutely not qualified for any of this. Tristan Evans was bland. He didn't do spontaneous things, he didn't chase after mysteries and excitement. And although his life was involuntarily becoming a bit more colourful, he was in desperate need for it to fall back into its smudges of grey and black.

But Bambi was spontaneous, and Tristan needed so badly for him to come back.

Tristan rested his chin on a hand, nervously drumming his fingers on the library's computer desk. He wondered if he should send the e-mail now or later. He wanted to. But only because he wanted to hand the problem over to someone who wasn't himself, and he assumed that wasn't a good reason. He knew when he sent it he had to feel like he were doing this for other people, and not himself.

Blowing out a long breath of air, he pulled his hand away from his chin and gripped the mouse, saving the e-mail as a draft instead. It wasn't too late to send it, and he would instantly do it after he was sure it would absolutely positively not affect the people whose lives already suck enough.

Tristan pushed his dyed hair back with a hand before pulling it away and allowing it to fall back above his eyebrow. He hoped he were doing the right thing as he powered down the computer and stood up onto his red sneakers, trudging out of the large building into the dull morning. The sun hid behind the clouds, and according to the how grey it looked, Tristan had a feeling it'd start raining soon. He pocketed his hands and quickened his footsteps to the bus stop.

As soon as he returned to the hotel, he automatically threw off his glasses and fell backwards onto the recently made up bed, looking up at the white ceiling expressionless. He never thought he'd miss the brown-eyed boy so much. He hadn't returned after two nights. Tristan was so worried. He didn't know where he was or what condition he was in. He knew no one could've done anything to him. He could easily protect himself, but he was so worried he was lost or somewhere in a hospital, which was so out of the box, but not impossible.

The blond let out a groan, kicking off his sneakers and sending them flying somewhere in the hotel room before he's rolling over onto his side. He fluttered his eyes closed into darkness as the sound of rain patted down above the ceiling. The rain made him think of his flat and its shitty ceiling. He'd forgotten that he actually had a home. He really needed to go back to his flat, even though he didn't feel safe being inside of it. But after being shot at and almost injected with a needle he had no idea what would do to him, there wasn't much that scared him anymore.